


Falling From Oaks

by ladyshadowdrake



Series: Happy Lights [3]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst and Humor, Before and after Winter Soldier, Consentacles, Happy Lights, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Multi, Multiple Partners, Still a little fluffy, Tentacles, Winter soldier compliant, alternate POV - strange turns, bucky pov, memory recovery, the colony is beautiful
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-03
Updated: 2015-02-03
Packaged: 2018-03-10 08:42:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3284105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyshadowdrake/pseuds/ladyshadowdrake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They may have brought him home, but he's still more Winter Soldier than Bucky, and he doesn't understand what his new master and handlers want from him. </p><p>Bucky's long transition from Winter Soldier to a human again, with a little help from the colony. </p><p>Happy Lights one-shot</p>
            </blockquote>





	Falling From Oaks

**Author's Note:**

> This was intended to be part of the ficlet collection for the Happy Lights universe, but at 17k+ it's not really a ficlet. 
> 
> You can probably read a lot of this without reading Strange Turns, but you'll be a bit confused toward the end if you don't know the colony.

**Falling From Oaks**

 

The Winter Soldier, who his handlers now call _Bucky_ , sits against the wall and watches Handler Thor sleep. Bucky’s left hand curls and opens. Curls and opens. He touches each finger to the thumb one-by-one, curls and opens. The Winter Soldier tries to think of himself as _Bucky_ because it is his new designation and he can’t _not_ respond to it.

He doesn’t think he’ll ever get over the fear of going to sleep. It is the longest that he’s been awake since he first woke on a table and the first master leaned over him. Gave him a name. A purpose. Nothing exists beyond the mission, but then there is sleep, and he is cold, and then they wipe him and start over. New masters. New handlers. New missions. Always ice at the end.

The master is very confusing in his gentleness. It is a different tactic than the others have taken with him, and he doesn’t know how to respond. The master wants something from him, but he can’t figure out what it is. Bucky wants to give it to him, wants the master to be pleased, and idly wonders if maybe there might not be ice at the end of the mission if only he can be useful enough to have more missions.

Handler Thor is a very big man. He is familiar to the Wint- to Bucky. Bucky cocks his head and counts Handler Thor’s breaths, each one in and out. Curl and uncurl. _Designation: Thor_ , the – Bucky thinks. _Threat level: alpha. Terminate on sight._ He clicks the fingers of his left hand together. _Current orders supersede. Do no harm_. Bucky relaxes. He isn’t allowed to have opinions on his missions, but he is not… displeased to have his standing orders overridden. Attempting to cancel the person of Handler Thor would present a great risk to Bucky’s continued operation. And Handler Thor is not unkind to him.

Other than their rightful attempts to recapture him, Bucky’s new handlers have not caused him pain, nor punished him for escape, nor broken him for conditioning. He feels a mild sense of distress as he remembers running from his handlers, from his master. He fought them. He hurt them. It is against protocol and the master should have wiped him at least, but he didn’t. Bucky doesn’t like being wiped – it hurts, and it makes him throw up, and then things are very… white. Simple: Input data, execute orders, return to handlers. But things became less white the more frequently he was wiped. He started to keep things he isn’t supposed to, memories, feelings. He has to be careful that they never know he is holding onto those things, or they would change the process to wipe everything.

Still, this master didn’t wipe him. Bucky still has the memories of his last mission and it doesn’t cause any cognitive errors that his last mission was to hunt down the man who now controls him. Regimes fall, empires crumble. He is the Winter Soldier, and he will have more masters in the future. Perhaps one day this master will send him to hunt, and perhaps he will fail and become his prey’s pet instead. Perhaps his prey will reactivate his orders. _Terminate the individuals known as the Avengers_. Bucky finds that idea surprisingly unpalatable. He will simply have to not fail. It shouldn’t be a problem; before Captain America he never failed before. Bucky will correct his behavior, rectify his mistakes, and stay with Master Rogers.

Handler Thor makes a noise and rolls over in his sleep. Bucky goes still and slits his eyes so the sclera will not easily give away his position, but Handler Thor does not wake. Bucky waits a while longer, but his fragile organic parts are tired. He has been running for such a long time, not enough calories to stay sharp, too many injuries, not enough sleep. It is against protocol for Bucky to allow this body to fall below minimum operating efficiency.

He is still afraid to sleep, but he crawls into the cot Master Rogers left for him. He turns on his back and determines that eight hours and forty-seven minutes of unconsciousness will be necessary to bring this body to peak operating efficiency. In the field he can settle for minimum operating efficiency, but here in the darkness he has no choice but to return this body to fighting form.

~*~

Eating when his body demands it and not merely when he is allowed is a unique experience for Bucky. On missions it is his responsibility to remain fully functional, and so he is often given orders to consume calories when necessary to maintain operational efficiency. These calories come in the form of compressed bars of tasteless nutrients. Sometimes if he displeases his master or a handler even these may be withheld until Bucky can no longer carry out his function. He tries not to displease his master and handlers.

Master Rogers ordered him to eat whenever he ‘wanted to,’ and to eat whatever he wants. It presents a conundrum for Bucky, who cannot understanding _wanting_ to eat. There is no pleasure in the compressed bars, and no difference between one and another. More than that, there are none of the gray compressed bars in the food preparation area. He searches through each cabinet, drawer, and box. He catalogues and examines each item, committing the contents of the food preparation area to memory. He alphabetizes one cabinet only to realize that he’s put the items in order as if the words are German. They are not German words, and his new handlers primarily speak English. Bucky rearranges the cabinet to be alphabetized by English letters. He stands back and looks at the items. They are not well-suited to being arranged alphabetically. Frowning, he takes each item out again and organizes them instead by item type, shape, and size.

“What’re you doing?”

Bucky freezes, stepping quickly away from the cabinet and putting his arms behind his back. He clasps his weak right arm with his left hand and puts his chin to his chest. Handler Barton approaches casually. Bucky risks a glance through his hair, watches as Handler Barton examines his work. Bucky realizes that he shouldn’t have moved the items without permission. He waits patiently to be punished, and only hopes that Handler Barton doesn’t find his infraction severe enough to call the master.

“Wow. I didn’t even realize we had most of this,” Handler Barton says. He reaches in and retrieves one of many boxes labeled “Pop-Tarts.” Bucky moves quickly out of his way, keeping his hands behind him, his head down. Handler Barton doesn’t touch him as he moves to one counter. A white device with four slits in the top waits there, plugged into the wall socket. Bucky assesses it quickly for potential dangers, finds that the cord is sound. Likelihood to cause accidental injury to handler: 2%. Likelihood to contain explosives: 0.09%.

Handler Barton opens the box and removes two packages of shiny foil. Bucky tilts his head – the foil is the same that covers the tasteless gray bars, but the packages are shaped differently, and Bucky does not recognize the items Handler Barton removes. They are nearly flat, pale brown, with a firm white coating and multicolored spots on one side. Bucky frowns. Likelihood to cause injury to handler: unknown.

Handler Barton does not seemed concerned as he slides the four tiles into the slits on the device and depresses two levers. Bucky detects a faint hum as electrical coils warm. He reaches out immediately and pulls Handler Barton away from the device, elevating the likelihood of explosives to an unacceptable 32%. He holds Handler Barton’s arm with his flesh hand so as not to cause him damage, and keeps his body in between his handler and the potential danger.

“It’s just a toaster,” Handler Barton says, touching him lightly on one shoulder.

Bucky frowns and eyes the ‘toaster’ very cautiously. He leans over to peer inside. The coils glow bright orange, darkening the pale brown of the tiles. Realizing that it is a heating device, Bucky relaxes, reassesses the threat to a cautious 13%, and releases Handler Barton’s arm. Sometimes handlers do not appreciate it when Bucky touches them. He might be punished for interfering unnecessarily, but he would be punished worse if he let a handler be harmed through inaction.

Handler Barton does not punish him. They stand side-by-side and watch the toaster until it clicks, tension releasing on springs to push the tiles upward once more. The orange fades from the coils. Handler Barton retrieves two napkins and sets them on the counter. Reaching in with just his fingertips, he pulls out the tiles and lays them on the napkins.

“Here.” Handler Barton holds out one napkin with two of the tiles. Bucky reaches out automatically to take them with his flesh hand. The tiles are almost to the threshold of too-hot and smell sweet. “Migh’ wanna le’ cool dow’ a sec,” Handler Barton says, sucking in breaths around a mouthful of the tile. He swallows and blows out a gust of warm air. Pointing one finger at Bucky he says, “Do as I say, not as I do,” and takes another bite of the steaming tile.

Bucky frowns. He stands in the middle of the food preparation area with the ‘Pop-Tarts’ in his hand until the temperature is more acceptable. Eyeing Handler Barton carefully, he bites into one tile. Sweetness explodes over his tongue, rich and hot, the outside crisp, the inside soft. He is so overwhelmed by the flavor that it takes him several seconds to remember to chew and swallow.

The taste knocks something loose in him, a memory of a very small boy sitting next to him on a step. Bucky is sure that it’s _him_ , but he is small as well. That seems strange to Bucky, who knows he must have been small at some point, but he doesn’t actually remember it. Together, he and the other boy bite into thick pillows of… of… pastry. With cherry filling. It’s a special treat, something they savor.

“You don’t like it?” Handler Barton asks, knocking him out the tantalizing memory. What is cherry filling, and who was the boy?

Bucky looks up at Handler Barton. He is unsure of how to answer the question, and can’t remember ever being asked if he liked something or not. He _does_ like the Pop-Tart. It is sweet and perfect.

“Maybe take another bite,” Handler Barton suggests, “Just to be sure.”

Bucky nods in acknowledgement and bites into the quickly cooling tile- the pastry. The second bite is just as powerful as the first and he hears himself make a noise. The noise startles him and he looks up quickly at Handler Barton for his reaction. Handler Barton smiles at him.

“Oh yeah, they’re really that good.” He winks and leaves the food preparation area.

Bucky remains and consumes the rest of the pastries.

~*~

Handler Romanov and Handler Barton take him into a gym the next afternoon. He watches them carefully from his place by the door, uncertain of his purpose. They train, obviously comfortable with one another, their bodies moving in easy synch as they roll on the mat. Handler Romanov is a dangerous combatant in close quarters, and Handler Barton has stunning hand-eye coordination. Bucky is glad they are not targets any longer as it would be a difficult mission.

Handler Barton gets Handler Romanov on her stomach with her hands twisted behind her back. “Got you, damnit,” he pants, face red with exertion and slick with sweat. Handler Romanov does something interesting with her spine, an easy roll punctuated by a sharp motion from her hips. Handler Barton’s eyes unfocus. In the moment that his attention is lost, she braces her knees on the mat and flips him over. He lands, stunned, on his back. It takes him only the blink of an eye to recover, but she has already flipped around and has his head pinned under her stomach, her thighs spread wide to keep her balance, hands twisted in his belt.

“Fweader!” Handler Barton snarls into the fabric of her jacket.

“There’s no such thing as cheating in a fight,” she replies with a wicked smile. She directs her smile to Bucky, who straightens up and blinks at her uncertainly. “Want to come play?” she asks.

Bucky hesitates. He is very frustrated with being asked if he _wants_ something, but he can’t explain his frustration to his handlers or it might be seen as a complaint. Before the silence can stretch on too long, Handler Barton thrusts his hips up, slams them back to the mat, and uses the momentum to lift Handler Romanov off of his face. He flips her over so she lands between his legs, wraps his thighs around her hips, and his arms around her neck. Her face goes immediately red and she gasps for air, reaching up to claw at his arms.

Startled, Bucky crosses the room quickly. In one easy motion, he has the two handlers separated, Handler Romanov held by the arm in his left hand, Handler Barton by the jacket in his right. They look at him in surprise and he nearly panics trying to explain that he can’t let his handlers be harmed. But they are both handlers, and now he has assaulted them, and they will certainly punish him. He makes an unhappy noise low in his chest, unable to explain because it would also be a criticism of Handler Barton, and would imply that Handler Romanov is unable to take care of herself.

Handler Romanov strokes a hand down Bucky’s arm and brushes her fingertips over his side. “He wasn’t hurting me,” she says in a gentle voice that reminds him of… someone, someone that was… that he loved? She was… someone called her ‘Winifred,’ but he called her… _mom_.

Bucky releases both of the handlers and steps away, suddenly overwhelmed with memories of a woman he _knows_ , but doesn’t recognize. She had dark hair, always swept up away from her face, dark eyes, she sang sometimes in a smoky voice. He remembers walking somewhere with her, his hand in hers. They swing their hands between them, and Bucky jumps around the pavement because… because he can’t step on the cracks. He thinks maybe he was protecting her by not stepping on the cracks. It doesn’t make sense. He remembers being much taller and standing next to her in a graveyard. She holds his hand tightly in hers, and he… there is someone else on his other side, small with pale hair, and Bucky remembers thinking that he is so strong, and Bucky wants to reach out to him. He remembers the boy sitting beside him on the step with the cherry pies, and knows that it was Bucky’s mom who made them.

Bucky puts both of his hands over his head. He backs away from his handlers while he struggles with a flood of memories of his mother, of this boy who he _loved so much_ , and somehow – somehow he’d betrayed that boy. He let him die.

“Steve,” he moans, dropping to his knees and pressing his face to the floor. It is the boy’s name, the boy that he loved without ever telling him, the boy he failed. Remembering his mother, remembering Steve makes Bucky’s chest cave in. If remembering things feels like this, he doesn’t want the memories! His masters told him it was better to just exist, to not remember the pain of his other life. They were right. Of course they were right. They are his masters, and they can’t ever be faulted.

He draws in a slow breath, and then another. The memories of the woman and the boy slide back into the whiteness. He relaxes and is once again the Winter Soldier. Bucky. He is a tool, a weapon. His purpose is to be useful, follow orders, serve the master.

A weight kneels next to him, a hand comes down on his back. Because he is not paying attention, the hand startles him. He flings his own hand up and catches his attacker behind one shoulder, locking the assailant’s elbow. He shoves hard and Handler Romanov crashes to the mat, gasping, eyes filling with tears as he puts pressure on her shoulder and elbow. Bucky releases her immediately and scrambles up to his knees. He grabs his right arm with his left hand and arches backward to show his throat and stomach. So stupid, attacking one of his handlers. He’s very stupid, shouldn’t try to think – he’s not good for that, he’s not made for that. He is a weapon. Weapons don’t _think_ , they do what they’re told. Master told him he was not to harm any of his handlers, and now he has.

For a moment, there is silence. Bucky waits, holding himself very still while they decide what to do to him.

“No harm done,” Handler Romanov says. She approaches him cautiously, and Bucky feels ashamed of himself. He has made his handler afraid of him. He deserves to be punished for that more than attacking her. “I’m sorry I startled you. Can you stand up?”

Miserable with shame, Bucky nods. He is not damaged and capable of standing. He releases his hands from behind his back and stands slowly. He cannot be smaller than she is, but he keeps his head bowed, chin to his chest. Handler Romanov ducks her head to catch his eyes. He doesn’t like it when they look right into his eyes – it makes him feel uncomfortable and trapped. He focuses on her nose instead.

“You didn’t hurt me, okay?” she says. Bucky can’t figure out why she’s lying, because he obviously hurt her. He made her cry.  There is no reason for a handler to lie to _him_.

“Hey guys.”

Bucky goes still at master’s voice behind him. His heart pounds hard in his chest, his stomach feels cold, his knees go weak. He locks his knees and takes deep breaths until his body is brought under control once more. He has better control than this, and he is in the wrong. Master should punish him, because Bucky broke one of his commands.

“Hey, Cap. We were just sparring,” Handler Barton says with easy confidence. Bucky slides a sideways look at him, but Handler Barton is not looking at him.

“Having fun, Bucky?” Master asks. Bucky gapes at him. No one has ever asked him something like that, as if he is allowed to enjoy anything, as if he would complain if he wasn’t enjoying something. “You know it’s okay if you want to train with the team, right?” The master comes around Bucky and stands in front of him like Handler Romanov did before. He puts his hands on Bucky’s shoulders and Bucky fights the instinct to flinch. He forces his body to be calm – this is the master, and the master may touch him any way it pleases him.

“I won’t hurt them,” Bucky says finally, because the master is waiting for him to say something.

Master’s face looks sad, eyebrows drawn together, mouth pulled down. He looks familiar to Bucky as well, more familiar than just as the master, or as the man he was sent to kill. Looking at the master, Bucky remembers a graveyard, cherry pies, a drawing of a superhero on a napkin. He frowns and shakes his head to dismiss the confusing images.

“Bucky, there is a difference between sparring to train, and hurting someone with intent,” the master says. “You’re an amazing fighter, and the team could learn a lot from you. So if you want to spar with anyone, you can. Just don’t try to kill them, alright?”

The master is very trusting, and Bucky is filled with warmth and pride. The master trusts him to help train his handlers, he trusts him not to harm them. Bucky nods, and wishes that he could express how pleased it makes him that the master trusts him that much. He can’t say anything because it might sound like he is putting his own needs above others, that he is seeking compliments, or telling the master his mind. None of those things are permissible, so he only nods again.

Smiling, the master squeezes his shoulders and then turns his back to Bucky without a care, and goes over to the treadmill by the window. He drapes a towel over one rail, puts tiny earpieces in, and turns on the machine. When Handler Barton and Handler Romanov invite Bucky to train with them, he goes willingly, and it’s very hard to keep from looking at the master constantly for approval.

~*~

His handlers are in the food preparation area when Bucky follows Handler Thor out of the bedroom in the morning. Handler Thor is the only handler who touches Bucky outside of training. Bucky tries very hard not to flinch when the others touch him, but he is not accustomed to be touched, and it is uncomfortable. Handler Thor reaches back and grabs him around the shoulders with one massive arm. Bucky tenses up automatically for a fight, but Handler Thor does not jump away from him the way the other handlers do. Bucky is still very disappointed in himself for making them afraid of him.

Handler Thor holds Bucky tightly, uncaring of Bucky’s strength because he is undoubtedly stronger. It makes Bucky relax to know that it would be very difficult to hurt Handler Thor even if he were trying. Handler Thor is loud and energetic in the mornings, and he greets the rest of the handlers with a booming, “Good morning, my friends!”

Handler Coulson glares at Handler Thor. Bucky quickly assesses the likelihood of Handler Coulson physically attacking Handler Thor at 21%, and only so low because Handler Coulson is not often physical with others. However, he is armed with a semi-automatic pistol and three throwing knives, and Bucky’s last mission brief indicated that Philip Coulson is a deadly shot. Handler Banner sits next to Handler Coulson at the table. He doesn’t seem to notice Handler Thor’s greeting, but Bucky has observed that Handler Banner is not aware of much at all before several cups of coffee.

Handlers Romanov and Barton prepare coffee and liquefied fruit in the food preparation area. Handler Romanov is never startled by anything and only smiles as Bucky and Handler Thor enter the room. Handler Barton waves at them over his shoulder.

Handler Thor leaves Bucky at a tall stool at one counter and muscles into the kitchen to retrieve the Pop-Tarts. There is a never ending supply of the pastries in the cupboard, but Bucky has to agree that they are worth keeping on hand. He sits at counter and watches them move around each other.

“Morning, kids,” Handler Stark says as he comes around the corner. He looks awake and buzzing with energy (or caffeine), so he must have already been up for hours. When roused from bed for anything other than danger, he tends to follow Handler Banner’s example.

“Steve’s not out of bed yet?” Handler Barton asks, throwing more strawberries in the blender. Handler Romanov shoves him out of the way and picks the strawberries out of the blender, replacing them with a handful of green leaves. Handler Barton pouts at her, and she rolls her eyes and puts the berries back in. He grins. Bucky observes this manipulation and files it away for future reference.

“Nope, he’s being a lazy-bones. Let me just…” Handler Stark crosses the table and takes a picture of the flowers. He types into his phone with a soft look that Bucky has come to associate with the master. Handler Stark is Master’s favorite and they often engage in sexual intercourse as well as non-sexual touching that Bucky understands to be an expression of affection.

“You are such a sap, I don’t even know how to handle it,” Handler Barton complains, making exaggerated gagging noises.

“Oh yes,” Handler Coulson adds casually from the table, “It’s not like you would ever fill a small swimming pool with rose petals and sit naked in it waiting for someone to come home.”

Handler Barton’s face turns red and Handlers Stark and Thor laugh loudly. Bucky has come to expect these kinds of reactions, so he is not concerned about the capillaries opening in Handler Barton’s face and neck. The conversation shifts, flowing into new topics at seeming random. Bucky sometimes thinks that his ears are nonfunctional as he frequently misses the topic changing and can’t always follow conversations between his handlers. Handlers Romanov and Barton hurry over to Handler Stark for no reason that Bucky can decipher, and the three of them hunch over Handler Stark’s phone.

The master comes through a moment later, looking flushed and upset. Bucky sits still and watches him carefully for any indication of his mood. The master looks at the three handlers crowded around the phone, bites his lip, and then takes a breath and ignores them. Bucky casually leans over to see why the phone would be upsetting to the master, but all he can make out is an upside-down photograph of what appears to be an amusement park.

Bucky frowns, something about the amusement park striking a cord in him. It makes him think of snow, and wind against his face, and falling.

The master sits next to Bucky, taking him away from the memory. He flips through screens on his phone and asks, “Eaten yet?”

Bucky immediately answers, “No, sir.” He is hungry, and he should have already eaten, because the master ordered him to eat when he wanted to. Bucky still isn’t sure what constitutes wanting to eat – if he is hungry but doesn’t desire food, would it be permissible for him not to eat? Or if he only wants to taste the Pop-Tarts, but has no need of calories at the time?

“What do you want?” Master asks, looking at Bucky sideways like it’s a test.

Bucky panics. His mind flies though the contents of the food preparation area, trying to grasp something that he ‘wants’ – but he doesn’t actually _want_ anything. He would take a tasteless gray bar if it was available, because that would be better than trying to make a decision on any of the hundreds of items. What if he makes the wrong choice? What if he says that he wants the green tea noodles that Handler Banner likes, but he isn’t allowed to have them? Or the master is displeased that he wants green tea noodles instead of canned tuna? Maybe if he-

“Hey, Bucky.”

Bucky looks up at Handler Stark, grateful to be interrupted and hoping that the master is not angry at him for not answering immediately. Protocol dictates that he always follow the direct commands of his handlers. _Hey, Bucky_ , is a command for attention.

“You want scrambled eggs with bacon, or waffles and chicken?” Handler Stark asks.

Bucky is so relieved to have only two choices that he considers for only a moment before answering, “Waffles.” He does not actually desire waffles over eggs specifically, but making a choice between two items is infinitely easier than choosing one out of hundreds of items.

Handler Stark moves around the kitchen, collecting items out of the refrigeration device. “Anyone else while I’m offering?” he asks as he takes a bag of flour and a cylinder of cornmeal out of the pantry.

“You cook?’ Handler Barton asks, clearly shocked by the idea. Bucky is not sure why the concept of Handler Stark being proficient with food preparation would be strange. He is a masterful engineer and creates many complex devices on a regular basis. Preparing food does not seem like much of a stretch to Bucky.

“Not for disbelieving ingrates, I don’t,” Handler Stark says, but his voice is pitched high and light. He is teasing Handler Barton. “Bucky, c’mere. I could use a metal hand.”

Bucky slides obediently off of the stool and waits for orders. He pays strict attention as Handler Stark instructs him in using what he calls a ‘waffle maker.’ It is yet another heating device, and Bucky doesn’t understand why there are so many heating devices that do only one thing. Wouldn’t it be more efficient to have a single device which heated all things? Bucky doesn’t ask, because it’s not his place to question his handlers on what devices they choose to stock the food preparation area with, or how they choose to use them.

Bucky is growing accustomed to sitting at the table with his handlers, though initially it made him uncomfortable and nervous. With past masters he either ate by himself in his cell, or he sat at their feet, or in a corner. Master Rogers was very upset the first time Bucky tried to sit at his feet, so Bucky sits at the table now and eats quietly with the handlers. He matches the pace of Handler Coulson, who never finishes eating either first or last.

Bucky is waiting for the handlers to stand before he leaves the room when Handler Stark reaches over the table and grabs one of the fingers of his left hand. Startled, Bucky curls the finger in, unintentionally capturing Handler Stark’s finger and making him hiss in pain. Bucky immediately releases the finger and looks over to the master for his reaction. The master is watching them both intently, but he doesn’t chastise Bucky for hurting Handler Stark.

“Hey, my fault, didn’t mean to startle you. How much control do you have on that hand? For finer things?” Handler Stark asks curiously. He holds his left hand up and waves his fingers.

Bucky frowns at his hand and copies the exact timing and motion of Handler Stark’s fingers. He has not had the weapon serviced in many months, and the finger joints are not as smooth as they have been in the past, but it is operational. A new worry surfaces that he will be in trouble for neglecting his cybernetic arm, a gift to him from his masters and one that he has to take good care of to prove his loyalty.

“Why don’t we…” Handler Stark leans back in his chair, tipping it at a dangerous angle. Bucky assesses that if he applies an additional two pounds against the back of the chair, or moves another inch beyond the natural center of gravity of chair and handler, the chair will succumb to gravity and fall. It is far enough away from the windows that Handler Stark will not hit his head going down, but Bucky assesses the likelihood of a minor head injury at 74%. Bucky shifts his weight to stand, but Handler Stark grabs the pen he was aiming for and pushes the chair back safely to all fours legs. Bucky relaxes.

“Bucky, catch.” He tosses the pen, underhanded, at Bucky.

Confused, Bucky nonetheless reaches up with his flesh hand and catches the pen. He eyes Handler Stark cautiously, and then looks down at the pen. He can almost remember holding pens, and even… he could even write with them, once, couldn’t he? Bucky shifts the pen in his hand, trying to find a natural position for it. He feels that if he can just get the pen in the right place, he would be able to write. That seems strange to Bucky, who cannot write because it is against protocol. He can read for the purpose of his mission, but he is forbidden from replicating any symbols in writing unless directly ordered to do so by a handler or his master. He has never been given that order. Any documents he memorizes, he repeats aloud to be transcribed.

“Great,” Handler Stark says in clear praise. Bucky looks up at him, not sure what he’s done to earn praise. Maybe it was a test to see if he would write with the pen, and by not writing, he proved that he is following protocol? “Now let’s try with the other hand. Toss it back.”

Bucky is reluctant to give the pen back, both because he really _does_ want to write with it – the desire makes him uncomfortable because he knows it’s wrong – and because he knows that his left hand is not tuned finely enough to catch such a small item without crushing it in the process. But he has been given an order, so Bucky tosses the pen back and waits. When Handler Stark throws it back again, Bucky reaches up and tries very, very hard to catch it gently.

The pen explodes in his hand, ink spattering in all directions, getting in his handlers’ food, and on their skin, and on their clothing, and Bucky has made such a mess, and he’s so useless, and so bad! He throws himself out of his chair and straight down to his knees, arching backwards to take the punishment he deserves for being clumsily and making a mess.

The master jumps out of his chair at once, and this is it, finally Bucky has done something that master will have to punish, because it’s so bad, making such a big mess and getting ink on his handlers’ clothing, and in their food!

 “Bucky, it’s okay!” the master says insistently, “You didn’t do anything wrong, please stand up!” He grabs Bucky under his arms like picking up a child and pulls him to his feet. Bucky has no choice but to stand. He holds his arms out, keeping his ink-spattered metal hand away from his master’s crisp white shirt. The master pulls Bucky hard into his body and tucks his face against Bucky’s neck. “God, Bucky, please don’t ever do that again, you don’t ever have to kneel to anyone!”

The words don’t make sense. Bucky cannot respond. Protocol dictates that if he has done something wrong, he is to kneel and await punishment. But he cannot tell the master that, because it would be questioning his master’s orders. He stands still and tries to think, but he’s not good at thinking, every time he tries to think hard it makes his head hurt.

After a tense moment, the master lets him go. Handler Stark crosses in between them and pats Bucky on his shoulder. “No problem, big guy. I guessed you were going to break it. Come along, we’re going to spend some quality time with my fabrication units and get you some real use out of that hand. How’s that sound?”

He propels Bucky gently forward, away from the master that Bucky wants so badly to please but can’t understand. He looks over his shoulder at the master, trying to open his mouth to apologize, or promise that he’ll be good. The master smiles at him and makes a hand motion to encourage him to go with Handler Stark.

Bucky bows his head and goes. He tries to tell himself that Handler Stark will help make him better, and then he’ll be able to please the master. For some reason instead of making him happy, it makes him feel… angry.

~*~

The handlers leave without Bucky and the master. Bucky watches Handler Thor go and realizes that he is disappointed. He has never been disappointed to follow orders before, nor has he ever cared that someone else goes on a mission instead of him. He is just a weapon, and not always the best weapon for a mission. It shouldn’t matter to him that the handlers are leaving for a mission and he is not going with them. He frowns as he follows the master back down the stairs. Why isn’t he going? Why isn’t the master going? Bucky has observed that the master frequently goes on missions, and this is the only mission where all the handlers have gone but the master and Bucky are left behind.

“There are people looking for you, Bucky,” the master explains, as if he needs to explain himself to Bucky, which is very odd. Bucky goes still and watches the master carefully. The only people who would be looking for Bucky are his previous master and handlers. That is… Bucky is not happy to hear that. He struggles with a sense of deep disappointment in himself. How dare he be upset that his master and handlers are coming to retrieve him when he has been captured by another master? But… Master Rogers is his master now, he belongs to Master Rogers, and it is his duty to do everything in his ability to avoid being taken away. That doesn’t mean he has the right to feel upset about his former master coming for him. He doesn’t have feelings. He is a weapon, and he merely exists.

“And we don’t want to give them a chance to get their hands on you. So you and I are going to stay here to keep you safe.”

The master is staying out of the field to protect Bucky? Bucky is a valuable weapon, but his function is to protect the master, not to be protected. He looks back up the stairs. What has he done to make the master believe that Bucky cannot protect himself and the master? When did he fail? “I can fight,” he says before he thinks about it. It sounds like he is questioning the master, but he’s not.

“I know, Bucky, but I can’t…” The master seems to be struggling for words, body shifting as if he wants to touch Bucky, which is strange – other masters only touched him to punish him, but he doesn’t think the master wants to hit him. Bucky frowns. “I couldn’t handle it if they got you again.”

Bucky understands. He is valuable and the master has plans for him that would be ruined if he were taken away. He nods because the master is looking at him like he wants a response. He can’t think of any words to reassure the master that Bucky will stay with him and will take whatever steps necessary to stay out of the hands of the master’s enemies. Presuming to reassure the master would be the height of arrogance – the master doesn’t need his reassurance. He seems pleased with the acknowledgement though, and takes him into the living area.

“Jarvis, can you put on some cartoons from the late thirties, early forties?” the master asks, sitting down on the couch and patting the space beside him. Bucky is nervous being told to sit by the master. He would be more comfortable on the floor at the master’s feet, but he sits on the couch and puts his chin to his chest. The screen clicks on to a black and white cartoon of a mouse – Mickey Mouse, Bucky remembers, from the first time the master played this cartoon. At that time, the master asked him if he remembered Mickey Mouse, so clearly wanting him to remember. Bucky wanted to please him, but he isn’t allowed to lie, so he was forced to admit that he didn’t remember ever seeing the mouse before. The master looked disappointed and Bucky was ashamed, but the master stayed with him and they watched the mouse together.

Bucky watches the mouse now and tries to remember. There must be a reason that the master expects him to remember the mouse, something that Bucky is failing to recall through the whiteness. It is an unacceptable failure when Bucky has been gifted with a photographic memory by his masters. It’s just that the whiteness makes it so hard. Maybe if he hadn't been wiped so many time he would remember the mouse, and the master would be pleased with him. Bucky pinches himself in punishment for questioning the wisdom of the masters that wiped him. They know better than he does and he shouldn’t think he has the right to question them.

~*~

Bucky does not know how to handle the arrival of the colony. The master tells him that it is a friend, and not to harm it, that it will not harm him. Bucky remains where Master tells him to, but the large mass of tentacles makes him very nervous. He watches the master walk up to the first tentacle and happily allows it to wrap around him. The rest of the mass comes through and scoops his master up in a fast grab that nearly startles Bucky into moving. He locks his knees and stays where he is, watching unhappily as his master disappears into the winding mass of tentacles.

The tentacles drift closer to him. It makes Bucky nervous and it’s a struggle not to pull out a weapon, but the master said it is a friend and not to hurt it. The tentacles withdraw from him, and then the whole mass moves into the hangar. He wants to follow, but the master told him to stay where he is, so he stays.

Bucky is always protective of his masters. Of course he is, because that is one of his primary functions. Follow all orders given by the master, follow all lawful orders given by handlers, execute his orders to the fullest extent of his abilities, protect the master at all costs. But there is something different about Master Rogers that Bucky sometimes _almost_ understands. It has something to do with cherry pie, a graveyard, and a train. He dreams about a train almost every night, clattering over a snowy track. Something about a roller coaster – but that doesn’t make sense, because there are no roller coasters, only a train. He wakes up panting for air, for a moment pushing through the stifling whiteness and nearly saying a name, but then the whiteness closes in and the details of the train go blurry.

Shifting nervously in the gravel, Bucky watches the hangar door for some indication of what is going on inside. He catches a brief glimpse of a tentacle twice, but nothing from the master. He was ordered to stay where he is, but what if the master is in trouble? What if, by following orders, he allows his master to die? Bucky starts hyperventilating. He tries to command his body to be still – he has better control than this, this shouldn’t be happening – but he is so worried about his master that he can’t. He takes one step, disobeying orders, what is wrong with him? He’ll be punished so badly if the master isn’t actually in trouble. But he doesn’t care. He’ll take any punishment if it means keeping the master alive.  He thinks that he hasn’t felt this way with any other master, but it’s hard to remember because of all the wiping. There are only bits and pieces of other masters. One, he thinks… something about blood in his mouth? He shudders and takes another step.

“Bucky! Come here, please!”

The master does not sound distressed. He sounds happy, and he said _please_. Bucky is so relieved that his breath comes out as a sob. He starts walking immediately. He wants to run, but he forces his pace to stay sedate. The master is not in trouble, and he sounds happy, and he said ‘please,’ so there is no reason for Bucky to seem eager. When he makes into the hangar the master is half out of the tentacles, head and shoulder and chest. He is missing his shirt.

“Bucky, this is the colony,” the master introduces, as if this is a new ally for Bucky to familiarize himself. “Friendly, remember?”

Bucky does remember that the master said it is friendly, but it makes Bucky nervous and… and something else that he doesn’t understand, a kind of hot churning in his gut. He watches the colony petting the master, running tentacles through his hair and down his body, undulating around him, glowing gold where it touches him. Bucky feels a nearly overwhelming desire to tear the tentacles away from the master, and he doesn’t understand why – his threat assessment places the likelihood of injury to the master at only 7%. His assessment is low because the master claims that it is friendly, and the master obviously knows better than Bucky. All the same, it’s all he can do to keep from disobeying orders and freeing the master from the limbs.

“I know it’s strange,” Master continues as if comforting Bucky. That is new and strange as well, that this master speaks to him so gently. “But it _is_ friendly. And it wants to meet you, whenever you’re ready.”

Bucky’s voice locks up. He really hates being given choices, being forced to decide things. The master obviously wants him to ‘meet’ the colony, but Bucky still feels very strangely about it and isn’t sure that he would be able to touch it without doing it damage. If he says he doesn’t want to meet the colony, will the master be disappointed? But if he does meet the colony and hurts it, the master will definitely be angry. Before Bucky can come up with an answer the quinjet lands, and shortly all the handlers are enthusiastically jumping into the colony. Only Handler Wilson does not, and he seems wary of the colony as well. Bucky’s assessment jumps to 12%, because Handler Wilson obviously knows better than Bucky, and he is worried about the colony. This makes Bucky feel something else he has trouble naming, something not unlike the feeling he gets when he successfully completes a mission and a handler – or even sometimes the master- tells him that he did a good job.

Bucky stands back from the colony and keeps a wary eye on it. If the master doesn’t ask him again, he may not have to answer the implied question of meeting the colony. In the meantime, he will make sure the colony does not harm his master and handlers.

~*~

The master is away a lot. Bucky tries not to be disappointed, because the master does not stay or go as it pleases his weapon. But Bucky _is_ disappointed. He misses watching cartoons with the master, even if he fails the master by not remembering them. He misses eating breakfast with the master, and watching him draw, and listening to him talk. There is something going on that Bucky doesn’t understand because his ears are nonfunctional and he doesn’t hear most of the conversations between his handlers now. His hearing must be deteriorating, because his handlers are mostly silent, but they move with great purpose.

Bucky has a drawing in Handler Thor’s room of himself. It’s the first image he thinks he’s ever seen of himself, though that’s not right, he must have seen himself before because he knows what he looks like, and he knows that the drawing is _him_. The master gave it to him, and is the first non-essential thing anyone has ever given to him, and it was the _master_ who gave it to him, so it’s even more special. The master was very pleased with it, and Bucky thinks it’s the best drawing ever, not because it’s a drawing of _him_ – that would be silly – but because the master drew it.

He stares at the drawing sometimes for hours before he goes to sleep, and sometimes for hours before he gets up in the morning. The drawing is so familiar, more familiar than just being of him – there’s some quality about it that makes him remember a mustached man with a car that tried to fly, and dancing with girls (does he even know how to dance?) and that _boy_ , the haunting boy with the cherry pie, who stood strong and proud in a graveyard, who held his hand, who Bucky… Bucky _loved_ and never told him. The memories don’t hurt as much anymore, and they don’t recede back into the whiteness so completely or so quickly. If he stays still and just looks at the drawing, he can clearly remember feeling love. It’s not unlike the feeling he has for Master Rogers, except that there is no fear in it. He can also clearly remember that he let the boy die. Some mornings he stays in bed for hours beyond the sunrise and can only barely make himself care that it is against protocol for him to be lazy, because he is overwhelmed with such grief for the boy he failed that he can hardly move. 

Handler Thor is gone somewhere, so Bucky has the room to himself. He is alternately uncomfortable with all the space, and unacceptably happy to have an area where he can close the door and be alone. It’s such an unacceptable reaction that he makes himself leave the door open at night. Handler Stark does not sleep as much as he should, so the open door has the added benefit of waking Bucky up whenever Handler Stark gets out of bed to work when he should be sleeping. Sometimes he only stays up for a few hours before going back to bed, but most nights he stays up through the morning and into the next day. He works with dangerous equipment, so Bucky gets up if Handler Stark is out of bed for more than ninety minutes.

Handler Stark has come to expect his presence on these occasions. Bucky gets up after carefully counting five thousand forty seconds. He redresses in the clothing provided by the master – a soft cotton shirt and comfortable thin pants that would be useless in the field – and follows the tentacle snaking down the hallway to Handler Stark’s new lab.

“Morning,” Handler Stark mutters as Bucky enters the room. “I could set a clock by you,” he adds, looking over his shoulder at Bucky.

Bucky is unsure if this is a compliment or criticism, but Handler Stark doesn’t expect him to answer. He makes a gesture with his chin for Bucky join him at the work table. Bucky steps over the tentacle, which is wound around Handler Stark’s waist so that several feet are free at the end to investigate the table. The tentacles still make Bucky nervous, but he grudgingly admits that they are nonthreatening entities, and seem genuinely caring of the handlers and the master. Bucky has observed that they are affectionate and protective in equal measures, and he approves. His handlers frequently engage in self-destructive behavior, and Bucky cannot physically watch all of them at once. He has also observed that his handlers and the master have been happier with the tentacles in the living room than they were before, even with as busy as they have all been since the colony’s arrival.

“Hold this,” Handler Stark commands, setting a sheet of metal on the work table. Bucky finds it soothing to be with Handler Stark. He doesn’t ask Bucky questions like the others do, and when he asks if Bucky wants something, he limits the choices to two or three items. He also talks a lot without expecting Bucky to respond, and is never disappointed when Bucky doesn’t understand something, doesn’t remember something, or cannot give an answer to a question. Of all the handlers, Handler Stark is his favorite. Bucky feels guilty for having a favorite because that implies that Handler Stark is better than the other handlers, which implies a criticism of his handlers and his master both. It is unacceptable, but Bucky has come to realize that he is broken. Without being wiped, he will continue to feel and think unacceptable things, but he can’t bring himself to notify the master of his disobedience. He doesn’t _want_ to be wiped again.

Handler Stark works quietly while Bucky obligingly holds down the sheet for him. Bucky watches the circuit come together, noting the changes in this circuit as compared to the other that they worked on the night before. Handler Stark is creating drones in preparation for a large fight. Bucky has heard only bits and pieces of conversations that he doesn’t understand- things about aliens, something called Chitauri-assholes, and an invasion. Bucky would like to ask, but he is not permitted to request information. If there is something he needs to know, the master or his handlers will tell him. If he is sent on a mission, they will give him the opportunity to ask pertinent questions. Until then, he has to stifle his curiosity and do his best to be useful.

They work through the day, Handler Stark drinking more coffee than he should for his health. When his hands start to shake with the caffeine, Bucky leaves and returns with calories in the form of a sandwich and fruit.

“A sandwich, seriously? I don’t have enough hands for that.”

Bucky considers Handler Stark’s complaint. It could be a condemnation of Bucky’s choice of calories, but the sandwich meets Handler Stark’s dietary requirement with enough carbohydrates, protein, and fats to sustain his unadvisable activity. Bucky instead decides that the complaint is with his number of hands. As Bucky can’t provide Handler Stark with an additional limb, he instead cuts the sandwich into small pieces and offers one square to him. Handler Stark stops his soldering and looks at Bucky with tired, startled eyes.

Bucky stays where he is, stubbornly holding the square of sandwich in front of Handler Stark’s mouth. He wouldn’t have dared tried to feed a handler before, but Handler Stark is… different. Bucky wants him to be healthy, not just because he is Bucky’s handler, but because he is special. Unique. Bucky likes him.

“Sure, why not.” Handler Stark shrugs and opens him mouth. He goes back to his work and Bucky offers him another piece of the sandwich when he finishes the first. Bucky feeds him the entire sandwich and then slices of apple until the plate is cleared. He is not sure that Handler Stark is even aware that he is eating by the end of it, just accepts whatever food Bucky offers him, chews, swallows, accepts another piece. Bucky hasn’t ever had the opportunity to take care of someone, but something about it still feels natural, as if he spent a lot of time taking care of someone, making sure that they ate, that they knew they were special. Protecting them.

 _Steve,_ he thinks with a bolt of lightning-shock down his spine. For a moment he remembers a whole life with Steve, a skinny kid who got into too much trouble, who didn’t have a dad or any big brothers, who was so fierce and brave that it took Bucky’s breath away. And then the name is swallowed up the by the whiteness, and he is left with only a frustrating tangle of half-memories and no context.

He sighs and takes the plate back to the food preparation area. There are other dishes in the sink, so he cleans them, wipes down the counter, and puts the cabinets in order before going back to Handler Stark. When he gets back into the room, Handler Stark’s robot is crouched down to eye the tentacle wrapped around his waist. Bucky likes the robot and doesn’t understand why Handler Stark calls him ‘dummy’ all the time, because he is very smart. Bucky sits down and once again holds the sheet down for Handler Stark so he can solder a circuit board to it without needing to clamp it down.

Bucky is instantly aware of the master when he comes in, but Handler Stark doesn’t appear to notice. He lifts the soldering iron away from the metal and nonsensically mutters, “Children.” Bucky glances over to see that the tentacle around his waist is playing some kind of tugging game with the robot. They stop, but another tentacle slides into the room and picks up the game instead. Bucky watches them play and feels strangely envious. He finds that he would like to play as well, and he’s curious of how strong the tentacles are compared to his cybernetic weapon.

“What are you working on?” the master asks, making Handler Stark jump. Bucky tries to make himself invisible so they won’t feel that he is intruding on their conversation. He picks up the same hints about Chitauri (not only the asshole part this time), the invasion, aliens. The drones are meant to help, and safeguards are in place to keep them from falling into enemy hands. Bucky idly wonders if he can have the same safeguards put into place so that his old master and handlers cannot retrieve him, or if they do, he is simply canceled and cannot be used against Master Rogers or his handlers. He doesn’t know how to ask for those safeguards and he feels that Master Rogers would also be upset if he did. For some reason that Bucky can’t always understand, Master Rogers wants to protect him.

He leaves when it becomes obvious that his master and handler are engaging in sexual activity. There has been a lot of that since the colony’s arrival, so Bucky is just careful to make sure he doesn’t intrude. He takes Handler Stark’s coffee cup and leaves the room, only hoping that the master will at least get Handler Stark to sleep.

~*~

Handler Thor returns with Handlers Jane and Darcy. Bucky takes the mattress off his cot, removes his drawing from the wall, and arranges a pallet for himself in the corner of the living room. Most of the handlers sleep with the colony anyway, but Bucky doesn’t want Handler Jane to feel awkward with Bucky in Handler Thor’s room. It is obvious to him immediately that Handler Jane and Handler Thor are very deeply involved with each other, the same way Handler Stark and the master are, the same way Handler’s Coulson, Barton, and Romanov are. Bucky feels strangely sad to see them all together. He shouldn’t feel sad that they are happy, and he is _not_ sad that they are happy. But it makes Bucky feel lonely. It’s silly for Bucky to feel lonely because he has always been alone. Master Rogers and the handlers are very nice to him and they don’t make him stay in a cell or stare at a wall between missions. They talk to him, and sometimes they touch him in nice ways, and they let him watch _Teen Wolf_ and the mouse cartoons. He shouldn’t feel lonely, but he does.

Only Handler Banner is alone like Bucky is. Bucky sometimes thinks about sitting with Handler Banner to keep him company, but Handler Banner has never indicated that he needs company, and Bucky doesn’t want to presume. Bucky feels like he’s blindfolded most days, exploring completely alien territory without the benefit of sight, fumbling around with his hands and just hoping that he doesn’t cross any lines on accident. There is always the chance that he will cross the wrong line and they will realize that it’s better if Bucky is kept in a cell instead, or frozen between missions so he is out of the way. It would probably be easier for Bucky too if he had a cell to go back to and he didn’t have to think so much all the time, but he can’t make himself actively wish for it. Despite how stressful and frustrating it can be to exist with his handlers when none of them will tell him what to do, he feels more alive with them than he ever has before. He feels like less of an object, and finds it harder and harder to be ashamed that he sometimes thinks of himself as a person and not a weapon.

The first time Bucky touches one of the tentacles, it is in the dead of the night, and the handlers are all asleep. He feels a sharp pain behind his eyes. A faint voice whispers his name, but he doesn’t hear the voice with his ears. It’s not even really a voice, just a sudden impression of another being expressing that Bucky exists and it is aware of him. Bucky lets go of the tentacle immediately and backs away from it. He is worried for a moment that it will pursue him, but it only lifts off the floor, curving upward. He isn’t sure how he knows, but he realizes that the tentacle is curious about him, and hopeful as well. It wants him to like it.

Bucky wouldn’t have touched it again, but he knows what it feels like to want to be acknowledged. He moves cautiously forward and holds out his flesh hand. The tentacle comes forward to meet him with the same cautiousness. It touches the very tip of its soft body to his finger. Bucky tenses, but he doesn’t feel the pain, doesn’t hear the voice again. He relaxes and the tentacle curls around his wrist. It is soft and cool against his skin, and squeezes in a gentle constriction like the motion of a snake.

Bucky frowns at it, not sure how he knows what a snake feels like. He doesn’t remember ever touching a snake, except… except that he _does_ remember. There was a zoo filled with all kinds of animals, and he and the boy went there together. They were supposed to pay to get into the zoo, but they sneaked in somehow instead. The boy felt guilty about it, but Bucky cheered him up by taking him over to the giraffes. The boy spent all day sketching animals, and Bucky was bored, but he stayed because the boy really came alive when he was drawing something new. Bucky loved to see him like that, eyes bright and hands moving fast and sure over the pages. Toward the end of the day they found a lady standing in a clear area with a snake. There were other children around her and she said they could pet the snake if they wanted, but they were all yellow-bellies and none of them did. Bucky’s boy marched right up to her and put a hand on the snake’s body like it was nothing, ran his thumb over the snake’s head, dragged his fingers over its back. The snake lifted up to look at the boy, and Bucky was worried that it was going to bite him.

“Don’t be a baby,” the boy told Bucky, but he was smiling so bright and happy that Bucky couldn’t be mad at him. “It’s a constrictor. It’s not going to bite me.”

Bucky went forward after that to put his hand on the snake too. The snake wrapped its tail around Bucky’s wrist and squeezed until the lady pulled it gently away. Bucky didn’t say anything, but he liked the feeling of the snake squeezing him. It felt like being hugged.

The tentacle pulls away and the memory dims, but doesn’t fade into the whiteness. Bucky stares after the tentacle as it retreats. He feels warm, his skin prickling faintly in reaction, but there are cold tracks on his face. He reaches up to see why and his fingers come back wet.

~*~

Bucky pets the tentacle draped over his knees. He understands now while the master said it is a friend and wouldn’t hurt anyone. The colony has been keeping him company over the last weeks with the master and the handlers increasingly busy and gone. He pets the tentacles at night, and lately one wraps around his wrist whenever Bucky is ready to sleep. He feels less afraid of going to sleep with the tentacle there. He didn’t realize the depth of his fear until the first night he let the tentacle wrap around him. He fell asleep quickly and dreamed of a seaside faire. That morning he woke up with the tentacle cuddled to his chest. He’d rolled over the night before and dragged the tentacle with him. He let it go immediately, heart pounding in fear that he’d hurt it, but it only nuzzled against his face and withdrew.

Now, Bucky sits with the handlers while they watch news channels. Even Handler Wilson is there, sitting uncomfortably up on the kitchen counter. He doesn’t like the tentacles, and Bucky almost reassures him that the tentacles are okay, and they’re nice, and it feels like being hugged when they wrap around a wrist or arm. He doesn’t say anything because Handler Wilson knows better than he does, and if he doesn’t like the tentacles, he has his own reasons. Maybe Bucky is incorrectly assuming that he doesn’t like the tentacles when there is some other reason that he won’t touch them. Bucky shouldn’t try to understand his handler’s motivations.

 _Bucky is damaged_.

Bucky doesn’t jump at the voice. It doesn’t hurt anymore to talk to the colony, and Bucky likes the colony.

 _This body is fully functional,_ Bucky tells the colony, _I am not permitted to allow this body to fall below minimum operational efficiency._

_Bucky is two colonies. Bad connection. Damaged._

Bucky puzzles over that. He has heard the colony refer to the handlers as ‘Steve colony’ and the master is ‘Steve’ and –

The whiteness flashes hard across eyes, making him suck in a shocked breath. It just vanishes, leaving behind a horrible ringing in his ears and a sudden feeling of _wrongness_. For the first time, he realizes that Bucky is not his designation. He _is_ Bucky – Bucky is a person who had a mother and a father, who went to school, who had a friend named _Steve_. He always loved Steve and regretted more than anything never saying the words, but he was so afraid that Steve would run from him if he knew, and it was better to have him as a friend than to not have him at all. He remembers going to dances with girls – dames, chicks, sweethearts- and always bringing Steve with him, and being miserably jealous the whole night because the girl he brought for Steve got to touch him, and hating that girl because she didn’t love Steve the way Bucky did, and she was a stupid cow for not seeing how amazing Steve was, and he realizes that the man he’s been calling ‘master’ sounds so much like Steve that it hurts, because Steve is dead, because Steve followed Bucky to war, and Bucky failed to protect him.

The last months run through Bucky’s head like a freight train, and the people around him aren’t handlers at all – they’re Natasha, Clint, Thor, Bruce, Phil, Sam, Tony and… Steve. But it’s not the same Steve, it can’t be, because Steve is dead, and Steve is dead because Bucky failed to protect him, god, it’s too much, too much-

Fog blurs the edges of the memories, blunts down his reactions to them. He begins to shake, and he’s so confused, but he needs to know what’s going on.

“Tony?” he calls out, because Tony is his favorite, and likes him and maybe will tell him the truth. Bucky looks up to see that he has the undivided attention of everyone in the room. Tony is still for a minute, and Bucky is worried that he is going to be punished for calling a handler by his first name, but Tony is not a handler, Tony is… his friend?

The colony moves Tony to sit next to him. “Hey, Bucky. What’s up?” he asks, like it’s normal for Bucky to talk to him like a person.

“My head is really… strange,” Bucky confesses miserably. There is an explanation for it, maybe, so he asks, “Am I dead?”

“No, Bucky, you’re not dead. You just have a damaged connection, and it makes it hard for you to think clearly,” Tony tells him, speaking slowly and firmly. Bucky considers that. In his head, the colony repeats, _Bucky damaged. Bad connection._

“Oh.” He can’t decide if that is a good thing or not. He doesn’t really _want_ to be dead… does he? But it would be so much simpler if he was, and if he was… if he was dead, that might mean that Steve is really _his Steve_. Bucky wants that so much that he would gratefully accept being dead, would take any punishment, accept any afterlife if it just meant that he could see Steve again.

“I thought I might be dead because I keep hearing Steve in my head. Kid is still bossing me around.” Bucky is so tired, but his lips stretch into a parody of a smile, mirthless and sharp. He looks up at his friend and confesses, “I’ve killed a lot of people, Tony.” What he means to say is that he deserves to die for that. The whiteness has pulled away enough that Bucky can remember everything those fucking Hydra bastards made him do, every innocent he ended, and then went home and wagged his tail like a goddamned dog when his masters told him _good, boy_. He’s been through this before – every time they put him in the ice the whiteness goes away and he’s trapped with the memories, hating himself, wanting to die so badly, but locked in his own head like a personal hell and unable to act.

That might be all this is. His mind breaking down under the torture of being wiped so many times. Maybe he’s invented all of this for himself, companions to keep him company in hell.

“I keep thinking that I’m dead,” Bucky says, squeezing his eyes shut, “But then I wake up, and my master tells me to kill these people, because they’re bad, and I’m saving the world. But it doesn’t make sense, and there’s all this blood… and then I die again, but I just sit there in the darkness and see all their faces.” He opens his eyes and looks up at Steve – and yes, it’s Steve, the Steve he remembers from the Hydra table, so big and strong that he doesn’t need Bucky at all anymore. “I’m sorry I let you die,” he says. God, he’s gone crazy, finally cracked. He’s talking to a bunch of make-believe people and a dead friend.

Steve looks at him with such a devastated expression that it’s all Bucky can do to keep from clawing his own eyes out. He never wanted to put that expression on Steve’s face, never wanted Steve to know even a minute of pain. Maybe if he hadn’t been so fucking stupid, joining up just because service meant so much to Steve, and Bucky didn’t want him to be disappointed. Maybe Steve wouldn’t have followed him, definitely wouldn’t have encountered Hydra, there would have been no train, Bucky wouldn’t have left Steve alone to die. All his fault, all because he couldn’t get three fucking words out of his mouth.

“Bucky,” Tony interrupts gently, “Steve is not dead, and neither are you. You’re safe now, and we want to help you. The colony would really like to help you.”

Bucky looks down at the tentacle in his lap. He traces the length of it, following along until it merges into the rest of the colony. He follows tentacles around the room, looking at each person there. He has trouble believing he’s safe, believing that he isn’t dead, or frozen. But what does it matter? If he’s dead, there’s nothing he can do about it. It’s not like there’s a parole board he can appeal to. If he’s frozen, then it’s better than being active, out there killing people for the enemy. He pets the tentacle and it glows bright gold. Bucky smiles weakly. At least he’ll have better company in this hell than in the previous visits.

Next to him, Tony shifts restlessly, and finally explodes in a frantic rush, “Would you like your mind back? All you would have to do is let the colony bond with you – it will probably want to sex you up, but you don’t have to, it doesn’t need that to help you. It never has with Bruce, and they’re thick as thieves.”

The name triggers something ingrained so deeply in him that he can’t hold it back. The whiteness pulls a little closer and his head tilts to see the person of Bruce Banner sitting with the others. Without meaning to or being able to stop himself, he obediently reports, “Bruce Banner. Designation: Hulk. Threat level alpha, standing orders to execute on sight.”

The Master- Steve- _Steve_ , shoots to his feet and gets between Bucky and Bruce, as if to protect him, as if Bucky would ever hurt Bruce. “Bucky, no!” he says in his command voice that makes him less Steve and more Master, “You are not to harm anyone in this room.”

Bucky’s eyes lock onto Steve and his mind pulls up the relevant data. “Steven Rogers. Designation: Captain America. Threat level alpha prime. Standing orders to execute on sight.” Bucky’s mind cycles, processing the original order and then amending. “Current orders supersede. Do no harm.” Once he has the words out, it is like being released from a gag. He feels the colony gently pulling the whiteness back. “Hey, Pipsqueak,” he says, exhausted and so tired of fighting.

Steve stumbles over to him, looking faint the way he sometimes did before he had an asthma attack. Before Bucky could even remember how to handle an asthma attack, Steve is at Bucky’s feet with his hands on Bucky’s knees. The position makes a big part of him want to recoil in horror – there is no reason that his master should ever be on his knees in front of anyone, least of all _Bucky_ \- but Steve isn’t his master, Steve is his friend and the love of his life.

“Hey, Buck,” Steve greets just like he used to when things were normal.

“Tony says you’re not dead,” Bucky says. He frowns, because Tony is a lot smarter than him and would probably know, but Bucky doesn’t feel the way he used to when he looks at Steve. “But I look at you and it makes me want to show my throat.” He can’t reconcile this being his Steve and also being someone who makes him feel that way. Steve would never want that from him.

Steve reaches up and puts his big hands on Bucky’s face. His hands are so warm and so strong. Bucky shudders and leans into them, feeling guilty and delirious with pleasure. “You never have to do that with me, Bucky, not ever.”

Maybe it really is Steve, because none of those fucking Hydra assholes would ever say something like that. He shudders to think of things they said, the things he agreed with because they were better than him, the things they made him _do_.

“I don’t mean to be a dick and rush this,” Tony interrupts, his voice sounding almost tentative, “But your lucid spells don’t really last long. Will you let us help you?”

Bucky looks at Steve. It would be easier if he just fell back into the whiteness. He doesn’t know what is left him without that, doesn’t know what he’ll become when the suffocating blanket of control is stripped away. But it isn’t up to just him. “Do you want to break my programing?” he asks.

“Yes, Bucky, _yes_. I want you to have control again, I want you to be _you_.”

Bucky wants it too. He wants it so bad that he can almost taste the want on his tongue, bitter vinegar and spice. He hesitates, a memory surfacing through the whiteness, prodded there by the colony in concern. He shudders – blood in his mouth, soft flesh beneath his cybernetic arm, screaming, so much screaming. He _laughed_ , he enjoyed it, he wanted them to hurt, and he wanted to bathe in their blood.

Bucky would have thrown up if he weren’t paralyzed by the memory. The colony soothes him with a tentacle around his cybernetic wrist. _Colony keeps Steve warm,_ it tells him. _Colony repairs bad connection. Bucky is good lights._

Still, he owes it to Steve to warn him of what he might be under the programing. “I slipped my leash once,” he says in a carefully neutral voice, holding back the horror and the… the joy, yes there was that too. “I killed my master. I took his throat out with my teeth and disemboweled him with my hand.” He holds up the metal hand and stares at it, remembering blood running slick and sweet over the shiny metal, beautiful and perfect, and those fuckers didn’t deserve to have it. “I killed twenty-seven handlers before my programing reasserted.”

He turns to look at Steve and can’t interpret the expression on his face. It’s something like sadness, but there is a sort of approval there too that makes Bucky feel guilty and sick. The Steve he grew up with would have never approved of the slaughter of anyone –or anything- not even if they were evil. “Why do you want to break my programing? I am functional in this current state and you are safer.” It’s nothing less than the truth. Bucky will hate being trapped in this white cage forever, but he will stay there if it protects Steve.

 _Colony keeps Steve warm_ , the colony tells him firmly. Bucky understands, grateful to know that the colony will not let him hurt Steve. It will drive him back under before it lets that happen. _Bucky is damaged,_ the colony says, _Colony repairs._

“I’m going to take my chances, Bucky. Whatever it takes, I don’t care. I just want you to be alive again.”

Bucky shudders at that horrible trust. “I won’t live long if I kill you.”

Steve smiles weakly, everything about him still perfect and bright and unblemished. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’ve gotten pretty hard to kill these days.”

Bucky swallows hard. _I won’t do it if you can’t promise me you’ll protect him,_ he says to the colony. _You have to swear you will end me if I am a threat to him_.

He can feel the colony’s unhappiness, but it says, _Colony keeps Steve warm._

Bucky nods, and says, “Ok.”

He’s almost forgotten that Tony is there at all, so he’s surprised when Tony interjects, “Tell us what you understand is going to be happening.” Tony’s eyes flicker to Steve and he says, “Informed consent.”

Bucky doesn’t know why it’s important to him, or why he looks nervous when he says it, but he dutifully responds, “The tentacle creature you refer to as the colony will create a telepathic bond with me in an effort to repair what you refer to as a damaged connection. Which may involve being ‘sexed up,’ but is not required.”

“And you’re cool with that?” Tony persists.

Bucky feels his lips twist into a smile that is more familiar to him, feels like something he would have worn in a past life. He thinks about what he would have said if not for Hydra and being wiped. “I haven’t had sex in more than seventy years. I don’t mind.” What he doesn’t say is that he would take any measure of closeness to Steve, even if Steve isn’t his, can’t be his, belongs to someone else. How much of a kick in the teeth is that? He spent his whole life holding his tongue, worried that Steve would hate him for wanting _that_ , and seventy years later he finds Steve happily in love with a man who is not him.

 _Bucky will heal,_ the colony tells him. It draws away from him to prepare, and the whiteness floods back in like a tide, swallowing him whole. Bucky doesn’t even have time to scream before it closes over his head and everything becomes simple and clean again.

“Good man,” Handler Stark praises, slapping him on the back. Bucky flinches. He doesn’t understand what he’s done to earn punishment, but he thinks he must have broken his programing for a minute, and why would he do that? He’s so stupid, they’re going to wipe him, they’re going to wipe him, and freeze him, and he’s going to be all alone in the cold and the whiteness-

“And we’ve lost him,” Handler Stark says, “But you all are witnesses, let’s do this.”

Bucky wants to scream, he’s so terrified. They all saw him break his programing and he’s going to be wiped for it. He tried so hard to be good, but he’s just damaged and useless, and the master deserves someone so much better than him. The tentacle draped across his knees winds around his waist and squeezes him hard. More tentacles lift and wrap around his cybernetic weapon, holding him immobile, preparing him to be wiped. He never fights being wiped because it is against protocol, but he’s made them afraid of them, so of course they’re going to hold him down.

“Relax, Bucky, please,” the master says.

Bucky tries to open his mouth to plead with the master. Maybe if tells the master that he’s sorry and he understands how useless and bad he is, but he’ll get better, he’ll be better, maybe the master won’t wipe him. He doesn’t say any of that, because he broke his programing, so of course he has to be wiped. He goes limp in the restraints and doesn’t fight as the tentacles drag him away.

~*~

Bucky reminds himself to breathe. He can’t stop the trembling in his limbs as he waits in miserable anticipation to be wiped. It is different from the other times he’s been wiped. The tentacles strip him naked and hold him up in the air instead of down in a chair. He stays still while the colony examines his entire body, inspecting scars, running over his weapon. He feels faintly guilty for the scars, each one a testament to all his minor failures, each time he allowed damage to this body that doesn’t belong to him. 

A tentacle pushes against his lips and he opens his mouth automatically. This is at least familiar to him, but it is too large for him to bite down, not shaped right, and tastes like cherry pies. He breathes through his nose and tries to be still, but there is a slow buzz building over his skin, quickly elevating from barely noticeable to prickling agony. This is different, and something is wrong. He opens his eyes, his body going tight, and tries to scream against the tentacle, but it comes out a panicky wail.

 _Colony keeps Bucky warm,_ the colony tells him, squeezing him tightly. _Repair connection_.

Bucky thrashes. It’s not the white closing in on him, making the world fuzzy and soft. The white pulls away, exposing every sharp edge and steep fall. All the things he is never supposed to remember shatter through the whiteness, turn the entire universe into a screaming kaleidoscope of color. He chokes on the gag and tries to pull away, but the colony holds him tighter, squeezing like the snake around his wrist. In his head he’s picking Steve up again after another fight, doesn’t even try to tell him he needs to cut it out because he never will. They’re walking into the recruitment center together, and Bucky wants to break the recruitment officer’s teeth for looking at Steve like he’s anything less than Bucky or any of the bigger guys there. He’s boarding the train for basic with Steve left on the platform, standing up straight and watching Bucky get further away from him. He’s standing next to Steve at the funeral, and wants nothing except to pull his friend into his arms and just hold him until the world is all better, but he doesn’t. Bucky lets Steve go when he lies that he’s just going to get a little air and doesn’t come back. He tells his friend that they can pull the cushions off the couch just like when they were little, but really he wants to say _my bed is big enough for two_.

Faster, the memories pour through him – drinking pop and reading comics, sneaking into the pictures, sneaking in through Steve’s bedroom window and he knows that Steve’s ma saw him, but she doesn’t ever say a word, beating up other boys after school to keep them off Steve’s back, dancing, charming his way into Bettysue’s bedroom the day after graduation. And then the War, mud and mildew, and struggling to keep his feet dry, dragging his friends off the field dead and dying, and eventually he stops learning the new guys’ names until they’ve been around at least three weeks. Hydra. Fucking Hydra. Zola hanging over him, _we’re going to change the world_ , and then… whiteness. Ice. Blood. So much goddamned blood!

 _Bucky connection broken,_ the colony tells him.

 _What the fuck?_ Bucky snaps back, caught remembering what it means to be the Winter Solider, and who Bucky is – was – still is, underneath it all.

 _Bucky?_ Steve’s voice, insistent and worried, but in his head. _Bucky, do you remember where you are?_

Bucky pants around the limb in his mouth and twists until he finds Steve and Tony wrapped up in tentacles below him. Tony is quiet and intent, his face carefully blank. Steve’s expression is filled with wild hope and longing.

 _I don’t… I…_ he tries to think, but half of him is screaming to get on his knees, and the other half is shrieking in rage that he’s being held down, confined, they’re trying to-

 _Bucky has bad connection,_ the colony says with gentle concern. _Colony keeps Bucky warm_. _No bad flash, no pain._

 _Is this… is this the colony?_ Bucky asks, not trusting his own mind.

_Yes, you’re in the safe nest._

_I’ve dreamt about you before,_ Bucky says miserably, because the ice has tricked him before. _When they freeze me, sometimes I dream about you. And the train. And that… that fucking place. Did I die on that table? Is it all just a dream from there?_

_No, Bucky. I came and got you. We fought together. I thought I lost you on the train._

_Steve… oh, God, the things I’ve done_! He fights against the colony’s hold, the memories of his missions coming faster and harder – women, children, politicians and uniforms he knows, uniforms he once wore. _Please let me die this time!_ He chokes on the tentacle pushing hard into his mouth. If it’s the ice, he can’t take it, he can’t handle waking up from this and going back to the missions, forgetting all of this and becoming that mindless walking puppet again.

 _Please release his mouth,_ Steve phrases it like a request, but says it like a demand. The tone in his voice makes Bucky want to show his throat, it makes him want to hit something, it makes him want to hit _Steve_ and he can’t forgive himself for wanting that.

 _Connection,_ the colony says firmly, _Bucky is damaged._  

 _Let me die,_ Bucky sobs, _I don’t want the blood anymore!_

He doesn’t know how long he fights, but eventually the world goes black. It’s a welcome change from the white.

~*~

When Bucky wakes again, he is in Steve’s lap. His friend is blessedly asleep, Tony curled up behind him, both of them looking comfortable wrapped up together. The persistent wool clouding his mind was gone, but the memories didn’t crowd him with sharp edges. He can remember his life before Hydra, and he can remember the Winter Soldier’s life in his body, but it is all softened by time. He shudders hard, recalling his sights on a fifteen year-old boy’s head.

 _Bucky is Steve colony,_ the colony tells him, cuddling him tightly. Bucky leans back into the coils of tentacles. He’s exhausted and he might still just be dead or iced, but for the first time in decades, he feels like more than a ghost haunting his own head.

 _Thank you,_ he says. He pets the tentacle wrapped around him, grateful that the colony hasn’t restrained him the way Steve and Tony are buried under tentacles. It doesn’t look uncomfortable, but Bucky appreciates being able to move. The pale blue tentacle arches into his touch, pulses gold, vibrates in pleasure at the touch of his cybernetic hand. Bucky is baffled by its joy in his false appendage, but the colony’s fascination and love of it softens his own hatred of it as a thing born of Hydra minds. Tony has nearly completely rebuilt it anyway, so he guesses that it isn’t really Hydra’s creation any more.

Steve begins to stir and Bucky watches him wake. His expression goes through a transition that Bucky knows better on a thinner face, but it’s the same – brows first furrowed, mouth compressing into a line, entire face pulling into a shrug and then relaxing. His eyes open slowly, blue sunrises in his charmingly baffled face. He blinks at Bucky, and then – an enviable trait – goes from sleepy semi-consciousness to full wakefulness between one blink and the next.

“Hi, Bucky,” Steve says quietly. He doesn’t meet Bucky’s eyes. Bucky’s heart shudders and clinches. He won’t be able to stand it if Steve is afraid of him, if Steve thinks any less of him.

Bucky swallows hard, and looks around the glowing dome of the colony’s safe nest. “This isn’t going far to convince me I’m not dead,” he says instead of begging for Steve’s forgiveness.

Behind Steve, Tony shifts and stretches within the confines of his tentacles. “Just go with it. I gave Bruce the same advice – hell of a happy ending,” Tony says through a yawn. His sharp eyes rake over Bucky’s naked body, and his expression closes down. Bucky recognizes the jealousy and longing there because he’s worn that face too many times himself, watching Steve with a dame Bucky introduced him to.

“You _did_ promise me sexing up,” Bucky says, to see if he’s right.

Tony nods almost imperceptibly. He reaches through the tentacles to put a hand on Bucky’s chest. His touch burns, gentle but confident, and it’s been _so long_. Bucky arches into Tony’s hand, shivering at the trail of raised flesh that follows his fingertips. There is no other way that he could have Steve, but he thinks he would have taken Tony’s hands alone if the situation were different.

Steve watches Tony’s hand on Bucky’s skin for several tense heartbeats, and then asks the colony to move him to the outside of the nest. Tony freezes, and Bucky shuts down. If the situation were different, he _would_ be happy for Tony’s touch, or anyone’s, but he won’t take Tony from Steve, so he doesn’t protest when Tony jerks his hand back like he’s been scalded.

 _I’m not going to stop you,_ Steve explains with his noble voice on, _But I don’t have to watch either. Have fun,_ he says with a smile. Bucky marvels at that smile, because Steve might be ripping his own heart out, but he means it. If Tony wanted Bucky that way, alone, Steve would leave and never say a negative word about it.

 _Um, wait! Don’t move him_ , Tony sputters, shocked and annoyed.

Bucky watches the two of them bicker, going from confused, to astonished, to awed in seconds. They merge together like two halves of one whole, seamlessly speaking right into each other sentences as if they share a mind. And really, they do, because they’re _telepathic_. And somehow they’re getting it wrong. Bucky tries hard to hold down the pressure building in his ribcage, a small voice screaming in fright at the impending outburst, most of him just overwhelmed with how blind they both are where the other is concerned. Bucky starts to shake trying to hold the laughter in, but Steve stops and looks at him in panic, and Bucky can’t help it any longer. The laughter bursts out of him with a force that leaves him lightheaded. He hasn’t laughed in decades, can barely remember what it feels like, and it feels _good_ , makes his ribs ache and his skin warm. He laughs until he can’t breathe, tries to get a grip on himself, manages two breaths and one look at Tony’s suspicious face before he starts laughing again.

The colony understands laughter, but Bucky doesn’t blame it for being uncertain when it complains, _Confusion_. _Bucky is happy lights, Tony is flashy red lights, Steve is sad lights. Why?_

 _I’ll explain as soon as I understand,_ Steve promises. Bucky could explain, but he can barely muster himself to take in enough air to stay conscious. He’s not even laughing over Steve and Tony anymore as he is just laughing because he’s laughing. He wants to try screaming, and crying, and singing too, but he’ll save those for later.

“Now I’m starting to get offended,” Tony warns with a dark glare. The guy really could do menacing if he wanted to, Bucky muses as he finally calms down enough to take a few shuddery breaths. He feels light and woozy with the influx of oxygen.

“You guys are _telepathic_ and you can’t communicate? Tony, let me share something about my best friend that I see hasn’t changed in the last century – he puts everyone else in front of his own feelings and needs, every time. This guy would take a bullet for anyone, would saw off his own arm if it meant saving someone a sprained ankle. Steve, Tony thought you were on board with the – whatever the hell goes on inside a nest of glowing tentacles. He wasn’t trying to ‘crawl in bed with your best friend’ _without you_. Dolt.” He rolls his eyes. Testing himself, just to see if he can say it, to see if it will make him shut down, he adds, “I’ve been under mind control for seventy-four years and I’ve got better perspective than either of you two idiots.”

The criticism makes him seize up for a horrible moment. He knows that Steve is not his master, and that Tony is not his handler, and that neither of them have the right or would want to punish him, but it’s burned into him hard. He manages to mask his reaction by shifting in the hold of the tentacles, reaching out to a curious golden limb investigating his arm and encouraging it to wrap around him.

“I think I liked you better as a puppet,” Tony mutters. It makes Bucky’s heart stutter and spit, but he tells himself that Tony is teasing. Tony teases and talks too much and hides behind sarcasm when he’s insecure.  

Steve’s face fills with horror, as if the words alone will drive Bucky back under the whiteness and bring the Winter Soldier out. “Don’t say that,” he hisses.

Bucky knows immediately that he has to break Steve of the impulse to protect him from every sarcastic quip and thoughtless comment, or life with the Avengers will be difficult. He eases up to his knees and says, “Well, you two are the ones who insisted I break my leash, so you don’t get to complain about it if I’m mouthy.” He smiles at Steve, just to prove he can, and because his friend is beautiful and perfect. “I missed you. And just for the record, I don’t mind if you do want to hang around for sexing up.” He wants to say _I love you, I love you, I always have,_ and _I’m sorry_ , but he doesn’t. The moment is already charged and fragile enough without Bucky loading that baggage down on Steve. He has found something wonderful with Tony. Bucky is selfish enough take what they offer, but he’s not going to put himself in the middle of it without an invitation.

Steve goes pale and stares at him wide-eyed. “Bucky... You don’t owe-”

“You best not be about to suggest that I’m trying to pay you for saving me with sex, Steven Rogers.” Bucky can’t handle the thought that his friend would think that about him, and he scans the Winter Soldier’s memory, his own memory, for anything to suggest he would ever put himself in that position. He can’t think of anything. The Winter Soldier wouldn’t dare presume to know what his master wanted, or that a weapon had enough free will to offer payment for anything. Bucky as he was before Hydra would have socked any man in the teeth who suggested it.

The colony tightens around him as if reading the stray thought, even knowing that Bucky would never hurt Steve. Except… he frowns while Tony and Steve bickered some more, trying to get a feel for his own reactions. There is a part of him, the part that is frothing with poison over being held captive that just wants to open up on every man he’s ever had to call master, every man he’s ever had to bow to, every piece of shit who’s ever treated him like something less than human. And Steve isn’t really any of those things, neither is Tony, or any of the rest of the team, but that part of him doesn’t differentiate. That part of him still recognizes Steve as Master, and wants to kill him for it.

 _Colony keeps Steve warm_ , the colony tells him in a gentle reminder of the deal they struck. Bucky leans his forehead on one tentacle hanging low over the nest. The colony tightens around him nearly to the point of pain, just to demonstrate that Bucky is safe in the nest, that the colony can carry out its promise if it has to. It releases him and strokes a tentacle down his face to make it clear that it doesn’t want to, and it trusts that it won’t have to. He nuzzles it, letting the familiarity between Steve and Tony wash over him. They really are perfect.

“Please tell me that you two are getting married,” Bucky interrupts finally before they go from bickering into a real fight. “Please, because I don’t think I can handle not giving a best man speech for this.” 

“ _Bucky_!” Steve gasps, as if scandalized by the idea. Bucky isn’t sure if men can get married, but it’s more than seventy years in the future from his own time, and he hopes that America has progressed at least that much in nearly a century. Neither of them correct him, so it gives him some hope.

“Fine. You two continue to argue. Don’t mind me.” Bucky rolls his eyes. He shuts them out of his mind and gives into sensation, twisting his body in the coils of the tentacles. Their soft bodies are cool and sweet against his skin. “By the way, if I’m dead, I don’t even mind it. This thing is amazing.”

Bucky can feel their eyes on him, but he ignores them because he doesn’t have to please them. He doesn’t even care if they hang around for the ‘sexing up,’ or if there even is any _is_ any sexing up. He revels in being touched, in being in command of himself. He explores his body through the colony, letting the pressure of the limbs remind him of where he is sensitive, where he is ticklish, the places that make him weak with pleasure, and those that light him up. He learns the new places too – the swath down his right calf that has almost no feeling, and the lines of his pelvis that make his abs go tight when brushed gently. A limb presses against his mouth. He remembers the bite guard and he almost refuses, but this isn’t a bite guard, and his mouth begins to water at the thought. He opens his mouth invitingly and the weight settles on his tongue in an achingly familiar way. It’s been too long since he had any practice with his mouth, but it’s also been only a few months if he closes down the Winter Soldier. He sucks on it hard, and it vibrates against his tongue, the whole nest lighting up gold. The enthusiastic reaction only spurs him on and he loses track of everything else while he sets up a greedy rhythm, push, pull, never entirely out, always as deep as he can manage.

 _Bring them to me,_ Steve commands. Bucky almost says _no_ just to taste the word on his tongue, but he’s wanted Steve’s hands on him for too long to turn him down. He doesn’t protest as the colony picks him up, but he’s disappointed when the limb withdraws from his mouth, drawing across his lips like a kiss. The colony settles him into Steve’s chest, and Bucky doesn’t even hesitate to put his mouth on the strong column of Steve’s neck, or to rocks his hips forward once they’re lined up. White pleasure zings through him with every touch, the smell of Steve’s skin, the thump of his pulse beneath Bucky’s lips. He remembers blood in his mouth and briefly goes still, nearly pushes away, but the colony calms him with a strong squeeze.

 _Connection_ , the colony praises them happily.

Bucky feels Tony move into place behind Steve and watches as Steve twists impossibly in the hold of the tentacles to capture Tony’s mouth. They flow into each other with easy grace, the awkward angle doing nothing to restrict them from sharing the same air. Bucky is hot with guilty jealousy and longing, watching them move together so smoothly. Steve’s arm comes around him and Bucky takes the contact and sinks into it, pushes away all knowledge of his intrusion into something already perfect and just accepts what they’re willing to give him.

He finds them both amazingly generous. It’s everything he could want from an ice dream, an afterlife, and if it’s real – what a dangerous thought- it’s more than he could have ever hoped for. Steve’s body against his, Tony’s hand working them to orgasm, is perfect in a way that satisfies Bucky and the Winter Soldier both.

Bucky closes his eyes and savors their nearness at the end, leaning into their hands carding through his hair without opening his eyes. Holding them both firmly to his chest, Steve yawns and says, “Love you. And still not leaving.” He falls asleep almost before the words escape his mouth, leaving Bucky alone with Tony.

“I know you’re still awake, Bucky,” Tony says quietly after a moment. “You okay?”

“Told you,” Bucky murmurs, letting his lips brush over Steve’s skin. “Haven’t had sex in seven decades. What do you think?” He keeps his eyes closed and hopes that Tony will think he’s fallen asleep and let him go without a _Steve’s mine_ conversation. Bucky knows that already, but he knows hearing it aloud will break his heart. He doesn’t have a lot of a heart left to break, so he’d like to avoid that if he can.

“Not what I meant.” Tony hesitates a second and then says, “He loves you.”

Silence is a habit for Bucky. He doesn’t have to think about not answering, his mouth just stays closed. If he did speak, he would call Tony and idiot for even entertaining the idea that Steve might leave Tony for him, or that Bucky would try break them up. He will have to be content with the experience as it is, hold onto it for the memory.

“Bucky, look at me. Please.” Tony sounds like he's drowning on the words, so Bucky opens his eyes. Tony’s expression is soft with love where he takes in Steve’s sleeping face. His eyes slide down the line of Steve’s neck and meet Bucky’s. “Are you okay with this?”

“I’m not going to have a meltdown, Stark,” Bucky mutters. “I’ve done threesomes before.”

Tony makes an annoyed sound. “You’re colony now. Family. Steve wants you to be here with us.” He swallows and his lips quirk into a tilted smile. “ _I_ want you too. But if this is not okay with you long term? We’ve gotten very good at sharing lately.”

Buck frowns, holding down the wild burst of incredulous hope in his chest. “You would let me stay?”

“Like I said,” Tony repeats. He smiles warmly, “You’re colony.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> There we have it, folks. More follows soon. 
> 
> For teasers, updates, etc., come visit me on tumblr: http://lightshadowverisimilitude.tumblr.com/


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